Of Sword and Shield: A Thorin Oakenshield Fanfic
by Froyja
Summary: Thorin/OC. After the battle for Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield feels it's time to settle down. He sets his sights on warrior wood elf Vanya and arranges a marriage, but she refuses to be tamed into a dwarf's wife. Meanwhile, dark forces are gathering around Middle Earth, and both Vanya and Thorin will soon have to choose between duty and desire.
1. Teaser

This is a teaser to see if the plot may interest readers. If you'd like to read more, more will be posted! Drop a line and let me know. This story takes liberties with the original in terms of plot, though everything else remains the same.

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Disclaimer: Only in my dreams would Thorin Oakenshield, or anyone else belonging to Tolkien's wonderful universe, belong to me. Hrrrmmmph...

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"Marry a dwarf?"

Vanya looked up in shock. She had heard her father's threats of arranged marriage for years, but had never thought he would actually give her hand to a man she hadn't chosen for herself.

"We have been given an advantageous opportunity," a weary King Therumen repeated, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. He had expected nothing less than a hard fight from his stubborn daughter when the time came to choose a husband for her. He sat up in his throne and looked at her sternly. "It is necessary for our people to be linked to the dwarves, especially now!"

Vanya scoffed and took a few steps away from her father, her right hand gripping the spear at her side. She turned to him with a toss of her braided hair, eyes gleaming defiantly. "Why should we?" she snarled. "They can take very good care of themselves, and our people are more than strong enough to fend off any stray orc-packs stupid enough to wander into our part of the forest. My army -"

"Your army is not prepared for what is to come!" the old king thundered, standing up and gripping his staff with a strong hand. Vanya turned away, her shoulders tense, hard eyes turned to the ground. Her father's anger ebbed away as he saw the pain she hid underneath her thick emotional armour. He understood. To marry without love was, for Vanya, to be doomed to a life of captivity, serving a husband she did not know, and bending her indomitable will to a man she did not care for. From the shadows of the great wood pillars of the throne room, piercing blue eyes watched Vanya keenly as she came to grips with her own fate.

The king walked towards his daughter and placed a gentle hand on her arm. She moved away, but he held firm. "If you do not marry Thorin, son of Thrain, it could start a war. He has just reclaimed Erebor, and both our people are plagued with stronger and larger armies of orcs." Vanya scowled and jerked her arm away from her father, but he persisted. "For whatever reason, there are dark forces growing in the East. The orcs are coming down from the mountains and darker creatures are rising up from their depths. We share the woodland around Erebor, and for years have lived in fear of Smaug. Now that he is dead and more evil may be coming, we could use the protection of the Dwarves in case..."

Vanya turned around, light green eyes resting on her father's smooth brown ones. She saw his fear, and forgot her own feelings for the moment. "In case of what, father?"

He looked back at his daughter, his love for her aching in his heart. "I cannot promise our safety. Please, child. Consider it. Speak with him. Do it, if not for our people, then for me."

She held his gaze, her eyes silently pleading one last time, before she looked down, nostrils flaring and eyebrows furrowed. She turned to walk away.

He called after her, walking quickly to catch up to her before she reached the door. "If you refuse him, he may never forgive the insult, Vanya. He already holds a grudge against the elves - us wood elves cannot leave for the West with Galadriel's people. Our home is here, for better or for worse - and having enemies on the mountain as well as around the forest could only be bad for us."

Vanya whipped around, her voice filled with bitter despair. "But why would he want me, papa? Why would he want an elven maiden if he hates our kind so much? As King he must have his pick amongst the people of Durin - why could he not pick a Dwarven maiden to wed?"

The king looked at her earnestly. "Because he cares for _you_, little one."

Her eyes widened, and without another word, she turned and left, the door closing heavily behind her. The shadow in the pillars disappeared.

Thorin Oakenshield sat on a rock overlooking the waterfall by King Therumen's palace, deep in thought. He heard a heavy tread behind him and felt a sturdy hand on his shoulder.

"You must give her time."

Thorin recognized the gruff voice of the king immediately. He looked out at the flowing water. "Not even time can force one to love another." His voice was thick with some indiscernible emotion.

The King sat by the handsome dwarf with a grunt. "Perhaps not, but Vanya is as stubborn as they come."

"She despises me!"

"It is not you she despises, it is being bound against her will. She is as wild as a river spirit. You must appeal to this part of her nature."

They were quiet for awhile, watching the water flow. Thorin turned to look into the old king's kind eyes. "A dwarf is no wild spirit."

The king returned his gaze. "Isn't he?"


	2. Chapter 1: Sharpened Swords

Froyja here, back from the land of the Valkyries! Love and thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed the teaser. I had originally planned this story to be a light little fic, but it's turning out to be a lot more complex than I thought. Expect slow development over several chapters, updated every few days (though no promises, you know how life gets in the way). Getting used to the doc manager editor is a pain in the ass, but I suffer for Thorin and the lovely people who've responded!

The story is starting out right after Smaug's defeat, with the coming of the wood elves to Lake Town, before the battle with the goblins. I'm not afraid of constructive criticism and critique - if something doesn't make sense or something needs to be improved, let me know and I'll be sure to fix it for you, though be patient as it is a slower pace than originally expected :P

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Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, I TELL YOU, NOTHING! Nothing Tolkien related, that is. Except my wet dreams involving Thorin and a very raunchy scene in his dungeon. Preowr!

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"Smaug is defeated!"

This was the call that echoed through the forest of Mirkwood, ringing with animal voices and carrying with it the swift wild dancing tunes of Elvish lutes. The birds whispered it in growing voices and prepared their flock to fly to a long-forgotten home, and all were content with their fates except the greatest of the forest-dwellers. The little thrush he called his own had come to tell him the news as day broke over the lightened wood. He stood atop a tree and eyed the Lonely Mountain with not a little greed, before turning his great robes and jumping down into a ring of his solemn advisors. Dawn-flies flit close to the branches to light their secret meeting.

"That, my brothers," he said, looking out in deep thought, "will be the last we shall hear of Thorin Oakenshield, I fear. He would have done better to have remained my guest."

The advisors hummed, full of sorry words and gentle gossip, and the wind rustled through the leaves above them as if to join them. They were talking about what their leader already knew: the renowned wealth lying under the mountain, the troubles of their own people, the legends of Thror's gold spilling in a river down the mountainside. Would it flow once more, with dwarves to rebuild it? And what could they take?

Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, hushed them with a raised hand before continuing, "Still, it is an ill wind all the same, that blows no one any good."

Horses whinnied by their posts on the edge of the forest. They were already packed for a short journey, for elves are lightfooted and travel quickly. "Collect our men," Thranduil said, "we ride today towards the Lonely Mountain."

In a forest far from Mirkwood, predatory eyes watched their prey from the safety of the lower branches of a tall Redwood tree: The unguarded back of an unsuspecting wood elf.

It was perfect. Sunlight gleamed across his smooth back and reflected the leather of his intricately woven belt as he bent over his metal work, sharpening his sword, completely distracted. Now if the wind could move just so... yes. This was perfect. Breathing quickly and softly, nostrils flared, an imperceptible growl of delight rumbled through a chest pumping with adrenaline. The moment was now. Muscles coiled in preparation, and just as it was time to pounce -

A twig snapped. The elf spun around, but it was too late - he heard a vicious roar and was thrown to the ground, his attacker poised above him with bared teeth. By instinct he spun the creature around, and they rolled over hard roots and dried mud; fists flew and some blows struck home, but the howls and grunts intermingled in a mess of limbs and breath, a violent stalemate, until finally the elf found his wrists pinned above his head by hands very like his own.

"Hah!"

Green eyes glittered victoriously above him. Beinion Adanion chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Do you know what the trouble with you is, young princess?"

His attacker looked a little doubtful and held his wrists down with more force, breathing heavily. "What, General Bein?"

He looked her over and immediately found the weakness in her hold, flipping her effortlessly until their roles were reversed and she was the one pinned to the ground, neck bent uncomfortably over a tree root, legs held firmly against his in a lock.

He smiled, ever the composed military man. "You are too cocky." With that, he released her and dusted himself off, picking up his fallen sword to return to his sharpening.

Vanya looked around with some shock for a moment before immediately getting up. Too quickly, it seems, because her neck cricked painfully as soon as she did. She rubbed it and adjusted her own clothing briskly. "It seems to me that you would deem any woman with some active confidence too cocky for your standards."

He tossed a look over his shoulder. "That is a cruel generalization, Vanya. I have always enjoyed your spirit. My own sister is the same."

"And yet _she_ is made captain of her own army while I sit wasting away in my father's throne room waiting for death! Or worse..."

"Your father has not kept you from joining our ranks and training by our side. He tells me himself -"

"But I have no title! I am neither soldier nor leader, nothing but a warrior in the way."

He sighed. "The king loves you deeply. If he truly wanted you bound up in an ivory tower like the high elven maidens in the West, he would have done so long ago instead of given you the freedom he has. And do tell me, as experienced as you are," he said with a scoff as he sharpened his blade, "what could possibly be worse than death."

"Marriage, of course!"

"Marriage? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, and we live long enough lives to have points of comparison."

"Bein, you don't understand it from a woman's point of view."

"From a woman's point of view? I come from a family of women, though I may not be one myself! And we live a very satisfying life. We have been at peace and thrived well enough for several hundred years, even under Smaug's shadow. "

"From a woman's point of view," Vanya persisted, "it is a death of its own." She gave a small sigh and frowned, taking a seat by him. "We are expected to keep house, to raise children, we have barely any time to hunt!"

"A more relaxed life,"

"A constricted life! A life without air, without purpose."

"And what is your purpose, then, Vanya?"

She was startled to see him looking at her, his blue eyes soft and serious, his work laying still on his lap. General Bein. He was older than she was by a few years. She herself was a year shy of her own Moon Rite, the traditional ceremony of initiation into womanhood her people had celebrated since times of old, when they lived in the great forests and plains of lands now lost, combined with the Rite of Passage of all elves.

They were wood elves of Northwood forest. Their wood stretched around the West and North of the Lonely Mountain. Their leader was the great king Therumen, brother of Thranduil. A good hearted king with less ambition and more wisdom than his brother, he ruled with a patience and a cleverness which compensated for his quick temper and poor skills in battle. He preferred to make plans rather than carry them out, and had in his long reign wisely appointed strong replacements to man his expansive though little-used army. Vanya was his youngest child, his only other being a son who had left after his Rite of Passage to venture and explore Middle Earth, with his blessing.

Vanya had lived, sheltered and protected, under her father's loving eye. Her mother's opposite, she sought adventure and life where the queen was content with serenity and rest. She was given the room to roam and grow as wild as the trees of the deep wood, but as her Rite of Passage drew near, she still could not see her life's purpose. She envied Bein's calm disposition. His strength was balanced with a firm sense of self-discipline, and he accomplished whatever he set out to do without fail. His voice was deep and sure. For all her strength, her lack of direction almost made it useless to her.

So she returned his stare, and gave what answer she could. "I don't know."

She got up and took the sword off his lap, looking at it in the sun. When she returned it to him he was still looking at her.

"Whatever you may choose, Vanya," he said, "you must develop your weaknesses into strengths. Without them, life will overturn you as I had - even if you catch it by surprise."

Light footsteps interrupted them, and Beinion broke his gaze, rising to greet the elven messenger running towards them.  
"A message from the king, for Vanya and the General!"

"What is it?" said Vanya, rising with Bein in greeting.

"It is Thranduil," the messenger panted, "he is coming to Northwood. We are going to war with the King Under the Mountain!"


	3. Chapter 2: A Meeting Under the Eaves

Froyja here! Thank you for the views and reviews, favorites and follows. As before, critique or comments are appreciated, don't be scared, my valkyries are trained not to bite! I've been reading fanfiction since I was 13 years old, so I know what you're all thinking - when the hell is Vanya gonna meet Thorin already? Well, that won't happen for a few chapters. You've got to build it up, you know? Give it some proper background, set the scene so that it makes sense. It'll be well worth it - this fic is rated M because there is eventually sweet, beautiful sex in a muuuuch later chapter. If it's fluff you want, drop a line! I've got some planned anyway and I'd love to hear ideas. Maybe a rated R April Fools fic featuring Bombur and a particularly fetishy dominatrix... but let's not get ahead of ourselves. On with the story!

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Disclaimer: "I had this dream last night... that Thorin was all mi-" "FROYJA. It's all Tolkien's and/or Peter Jackson's and you know it." "Thanks for shitting on my fangirl parade..." "You'll thank me when people don't sue you."

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This moment was beyond victory.

This was a man dying of thirst thrusting his face into the purest spring. A starving man, sinking his teeth into freshly baked dwarven bread after an impossible journey.

This was home.

Thorin Oakenshield could barely restrain himself. His heavy furs and sturdy boots kept him rooted to the ground, but his heart leapt around the mountain, his beloved, loved mountain. At last! At last. There wasn't enough time to soak in the familiar sights - the tunnels he knew better than his own heart, the secret passages he had wandered as a boy, the piles of gold he used every ounce of his will not to jump into and roll in like a child.

His kin had no such noble thoughts in mind.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOLD!"

Thorin sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He kept his back to the company as they ran around, rolling in the great piles of treasure, talking excitedly. Bilbo Baggins, their hobbit burglar, simply stared in wonder.

"Can you believe we're home?"

"My God, what a pile he's made -"

"Where's the bathroom?"

"We should count this."

"Is that the Arkenstone?"

"Am hongreh!"

"I don't think that's the Arkenstone you're holding, Ori..."

"How the bloody hell do you people live in a place that's so bloody -"

"Oh Gods, you don't think it could be -"

"Place is a mess. Needs a woman's touch."

"Knowing our women, you wouldn't know if one was with us."

"Why is this moist?"

"I happen to like a woman who can grow a beard!"

"I hate the smell of dragon - almost as bad as the smell of its -"

"AAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!"

"SILENCE!" Thorin thundered. Everyone stopped and turned to Thorin.

"Fili. Kili."

The two young princes scurried by Thorin's side, straightening up immediately under his glacial stare.

"Oin, Gloin, count the treasure. Dwalin, Balin, come with me. Bifur, Bofur, set up camp. Don't let Bombur eat the dragon shit." The dwarves nodded and went to their stations. He turned to the last three dwarves.

"Dori, Nori, Ori..." They looked at him, waiting for the word, their faces blank. He groaned a little. "Find some supplies, and for God's sakes stay out of trouble."

Balin found a stone table, knocked over no doubt by Smaug when he first settled in Erebor. He righted it with Dwalin and Fili and they came around, looking at their leader. As much as they wished it to be, they all knew by the look on his face that it wasn't over yet.

Thorin took out a map of Erebor from the breast of his coat and rolled it out onto the table, pointing out a cavern in the deeper part of the mountain mines. His face glowed for the first time in months.

"This," he said, "Is where the Arkenstone is most likely to be, if my memory serves me. It is crucial that we find it again. Only with the Arkenstone will we be able to re-establish ourselves and return to our former glory."

"But do you think that is wise, Thorin?"

The group turned to Kili, surprised he had spoken. He paused, unsure of himself, but continued, "The Arkenstone was what lead to our fall and made Thrain go mad. Maybe we can do without it, maybe we could -"

"How dare you disrespect your ancestors!" Thorin erupted, banging his fist on the stone table. It echoed through the mountain, and it was a while before anyone spoke again.

"It is our family heirloom," Thorin said, his voice soft. "It is ours. Our own. We must find it."

Kili and Balin exchanged looks, but said nothing. They parted ways to search for the stone, the sound of falling gold mingling with the low chatter of Durin's men.

...

"You want to hold the Dwarven king hostage in his own palace?"

"How could you word it so crudely? Therumen, Lake Town has been destroyed and their people have put their trust in me. It is my duty to help them rebuild!"

"Oh! But for a small fee, I am sure."

"Think of the women and children, brother!"

"Think of your own intentions!"

Beneath the royal eaves of Northwood's palace, an immense hollow tree open to the sky and protected by a thick labyrinth of branches, two elven brothers debated. If they were of another kind, they would have been thought to be arguing, but elves rarely rouse themselves to such crass expressions of emotion. Though long separated, immortality grants an elf enough memory never to forget his kinsman - particularly if they have... memorable... personalities.

On the road to the Lonely Mountain Thranduil had received word from Lake Town, a nearby human settlement over which he had much influence. It had been ravaged by Smaug before his smiting. Women and children, left homeless and husbandless, were threatened with starvation, and would likely not survive the coming winter. The Mirkwood king promised to aid them, and rode to see his brother for support and fresh men. He called for a meeting to which his brother and the royal entourage attended to make his case. This would prove more difficult than he originally thought.

"I do not doubt your sympathy for these people, nor do I believe they should be left to die. But to take a portion of the treasure for ourselves? It is an attractive exchange of services, to be sure, but we have done little to deserve a slice of Thorin Oakenshield's loaf."

"But -"

"Furthermore," Therumen said, holding up a gentle hand to silence his brother, "You forget that dwarves are as protective of their gold as dragons are! It would doubtless create unnecessary tensions and only make your mission all the more difficult. And speaking of unnecessary tensions," he walked to where Vanya sat and placed his hands on her shoulders, "The dwarves _despise_ us. Before Smaug we kept our peace with the dwarven kingdom solely out of mutual agreement - and luck, as Thorin's family is not tied to the old quarrel between us, and neither are we in Northwood. But he hasn't forgiven the high elves for abandoning him during Smaug's capture of Erebor. This prejudice will extend to us just as strongly, especially after your foolish blunder in Mirkwood! Am I to put my people - my daughter - in such danger, for your own greed?"

Thranduil was deeply offended, for though he truly meant to help the humans of Lake Town, there was some truth in his brother's hard words. He did not love the dwarves, and had, while the dwarven company were making their way to the Lonely Mountain, captured and imprisoned Thorin Oakenshield in his travels through Mirkwood out of mistrust. He took a moment to collect himself and plan his words carefully.

"The humans grow stronger by the decade. Already," here he turned to address everyone in the room, "our people have been retreating into the deeper wood as they become more numerous. Before long, the high elves will leave for the West. What will we do?"

The throne room filled with low, worried voices. He kept on, "Our people are of this land, tied to this land, and we will pass through time in it. We cannot know what is ahead - we must think of our future, if we cannot change our past. If we intend to stay, we cannot make enemies with those who may, someday, inherit Middle Earth.

"My intention is not to attack the king under the mountain, but to persuade him. We may even find a way to resolve our differences, and usher in an age of surer peace than the one you now enjoy. And if we cannot... preparations for darker times may soon become necessary. If you love your daughter, Therumen, you will at least offer her this chance."

The Northwood king looked thoughtful. After a long silence, he said to all gathered, "We will take a small pause for feasting. Then will I announce my decision."

...

"You seem preoccupied, princess," said Beinion Adanion as he took a seat beside Vanya at the banquet table.

"Who would not be?" Vanya exclaimed, slumping comfortably into her seat. "We might go to Lake Town - even to the Lonely Mountain itself! An adventure at last. But father is unlikely to allow it... my uncle has given poor reasoning to collect a share of the dwarf king's prize. Still, they are a prosperous enough people by nature, or so the songs say. What do you think of it?"

"Posture, Vanya! What have I told you?"

"Apologies, mother... _'As the beech'_, I know, I know,"

Bein looked at her with amusement. He often did. "I believe your father will accept."

Vanya looked surprised. "Accept? Why?"

"He is a clever man... I expect he has some plan in mind that will bring everything together. I also suspect he himself is pulled by the idea of gold lying under the mountain, although he would deny it. Our people do little outside of hunting, gathering and simple craft. If he is unsure of the future, such safety would benefit us enormously in the times ahead."

"Why does everyone speak of 'dark times ahead?' Have we not lived peacefully for long enough? Save the stray orc-packs who wander into our forests on occasion..."

"Do you not feel it in the air?"

A breeze blew gently past them from above. She looked up. Beinion gently took Vanya's hand into his own. It was smooth and dry, and coarse in some places from wielding weapons or climbing. He passed his thumb across these harder places and felt the strength of his own hand in comparison to hers. When he looked up, Vanya was watching his face carefully with her large animal eyes, searching for something.

"You will ride the winds of change as they come. You are like an oak. You only have to allow yourself to take root."

Vanya warmly placed her own hand on his for a moment, before pulling away to stretch them across her chair confidently. "I prefer the ash. You are much more like the oak than I."

"I have come to my decision."

Beinion took his gaze away from Vanya to look at his king. The moment had come. Everyone was quiet as they waited for him to speak.

"After some deliberation, I have decided we will join our kinsmen of Mirkwood and parlay with Thorin Oakenshield. We set out in a day's time."

"Prepare yourself, Vanya," said Beinion, his eyes sparkling. "The winds have come - your adventure has begun."


	4. Chapter 3: The Council of Esgaroth

My dear, dear readers. It has been a HORRENDOUSLY long time since I last updated, and for that I apologize. It was a mixture of procrastination and being busy. I hope to high heaven that things will run more smoothly now. Thank you for all of your feedback, it's much appreciated. These first few 'introductory' chapters have to be gotten out of the way before things can really start. You will see.

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Disclaimer: You know the drill. I own nathing, save my little fantasies...

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From the rubble of Esgaroth, a little girl emerged like a spring bloom from the burned debris of a thatched-roof cottage. Her dirty dress blew about her knees as she shielded her lovely, rosy face from the chill autumn wind. Two glowing blue eyes raked over the ground as she moved with childish clumsiness in search of food.

She was one of the many left after the wreck of Smaug. Her mother was nearby, looking dazedly out onto the horizon. The rising sun created matching haloes around the heads of mother and child. Childish voices laughed into the morning breeze, small rays of light in a dark and dismal place. They were waiting for the Elvenking to come and make sense of their broken lives. For it is with men as it is with dwarves and elves alike; they all require a king or a master, for though many enjoy the fruits of power, few will take the weight of tending to its tree.

Looking out over the ruins of her town, the little girl's eyes lit up with youthful ease as she spotted something moving in the distance, coming from the West. She made noises that startled her jaded mother from her reverie, and brought her immediately to her feet. More people joined them, and soon began to cheer when they realized what was approaching them.

It was the Elven army! Heading it was the more familiar figure of Thranduil, riding tall on his fine horse, and looking with proud eyes over the children who soon trailed alongside them, and the growing crowds of people come to welcome them to Esgaroth. Behind him, making close observations of the surroundings, was Therumen, closely followed by General Adanion and Vanya, each riding their most trusted stallions. Streams of soft conversation floated from the passing elven warriors, and the humans stared at them in wonder. Most had never seen them collected in such strong ranks since times of old, and some had never even laid eyes on an elf before in their lives. Their beauty lifted their spirits and brought exciting talk of war after the gathered people of Lake Town had taken in the elves' finely wrought armour and strangely swelled numbers.

There was very little time. Therumen and Thranduil decided to hold quick counsel with the remaining human leaders of Esgaroth. The Master of Lake town had fled during Smaug's attack, and in his place had risen Bard the Bowman, of the line of Girion.

Bard was handsome despite his lean frame and short stature, with the rough skin of a warrior and the quick eye of the archer, and this made him particularly amiable in the eyes of the two Elvenkings, who understood his manners and held his profession close to their hearts. He spoke with a firmness which softened somewhat the superior tone of the elves who spoke with him. New friendships would have to be formed on the go, however. Bard and the Elvenkings had plans in mind to discuss with each other, and now was not a time for socializing.

Bard, the Elvenkings, the Elven generals and some of the men of Esgaroth's traditional council gathered in one of the only cottages still intact, made of harder stone than the others, with a metal roof. Outside, Elven guards stood at the door, while the rest of the army began their work setting the town right, gathering better building materials, tending to the sick and injured with what magic they could use, and bringing food and comfort to those who needed it.

Therumen had at first hoped Vanya would stay outside to represent himself and his brother to the frightened people scattered about and in need of reassurance, but she had stubbornly insisted on attending their meeting. He secretly mourned the lack of maternal instinct in his wayward daughter, but he knew there was nothing to be done. Despite his initial disappointment in her character, he had always thought it better that she be hard-headed, and so had done little to tame this natural tendency in her. As a great strategist, surrounded by a submissive wife and an obedient people, it was sometimes refreshing to be contradicted. And anyway, he reasoned, oftentimes the headstrong are much more easily manipulated than the docile, for while a tamer man is observant of his surroundings in his openness to new ideas, an obstinate man will look nowhere but in the direction he has chosen, and so will not see the one standing behind him quietly guiding his path. In the daughter of a king, no matter how small his kingdom be, this was useful leverage if any situation would require it.

"I believe that Thorin Oakenshield has perished in the flames of Smaug," said the Bard, summarizing his thoughts before briefing the group on his plan. "I have heard rumour and legend of the treasure lying in the Lonely Mountain. With Smaug now slain, I believe we should claim it and divvy it up between our people, now that it is left unguarded."

Therumen spoke. "I am afraid you are mistaken. Thorin is alive and well, as is his dwarven company, and we have come to ride to the Lonely Mountain to discuss terms with him."

"Thorin... alive?" Asked Bard with widened eyes.

Thranduil nodded. The wind blew strongly outside, rattling against the windows. After a short pause, the Bard asked, "What terms would these be?"

"One twelfth of his treasure to be given to you, of which we will take a small share," said Thranduil.

Bard's eyes narrowed. "How small?"

Thranduil hesitated, and his brother cut in before he could answer himself. "A twelfth. No more. As recompense for the work our men have done." Therumen shot a look at Thranduil and sat back in his seat, turning back to Bard.

The bowman nodded and passed a hand across his face, scratching his closely-trimmed brown beard. "These are fair terms. I have not planned for this possibility, but it is evident that your people are prepared. We will follow your lead, so long as you keep to your word. If there are no objections, we will set out to the Mountain on the morrow."

"I have an objection," came a voice from the back of the room. All turned their faces to where it had come from.

It belonged to Aredhel Adanion, one of Therumen's generals. She had been leaning against the wall directly behind her brother, taking everything in. Now, she pushed her way to the table where the men were gathered. Vanya watched her movements with some awe. Though like her brother in appearance and temperament, she was much more fiery and passionate, renowned for her abilities to rally up the men she led to fight by her side. The scar across her cheek and forehead was proof of her experience in battle, and her years of seeking it out had diminished her beauty so that the chief of it now came from the natural grace of her Elven blood rather than any radiance of her own. She planted her hands on the table to mark her presence and looked directly at the Bard.

"You are taking too much for granted. You all are. I beg your pardon, my lords," she said, with a nod to the royalty, "but the dwarves will gather and fight rather than relinquish any of their gold, especially when they see our armies. I cannot disagree with our choice to bring our men - but it is still a symbol of aggression. The dwarves will not take this lightly."

"Then what would you suggest, general?" said the Bard, raising a mocking eyebrow at her forwardness. He was surprised to see a woman be part of this group - he was skeptical enough of the reliability women, knowing only those of his own race - but then again, Therumen had also brought his daughter with him, and this woman warrior seemed capable enough. Perhaps Elven women were different.

Aredhel took her hands off the table and stood tall, her eyes trained on the Bard's, hard now that she felt her authority challenged. "We negotiate. Just as my king suggests - we bring those now present to the mountain, to show we mean no harm. To march with our full army is folly - we are doing no more than asking for a reasonable share, and we must appeal to their... generosity."

One of the elf warriors scoffed at this, but was silenced by Thranduil's raised hand.

"As much as I would like to fight," she continued, "a war is the last thing your people need, especially now. We must use caution. We must take our time. The dwarves are not so different from us that they will not hear our arguments if we present them appropriately."

They looked at each other for a long moment, she refusing to drop her eyes from his. Finally, the Bard nodded, and Vanya could have sworn his cheeks seemed slightly flushed. He broke her gaze to look at his own hands for a moment before turning to the others.

"It is settled. We will go tomorrow to the Mountain."


	5. Chapter 4: The Gates of Lonely Mountain

Froyja here, back from the dead. I won't give you any excuses - even WITH life in the way, I could have written, and you all know this. The truth is that I became afraid. As some of you might understand, I am a perfectionist, and I was convinced that my story was no good, so I avoided continuing it. I'm not searching for compliments, but I am giving to you my honest explanation for my horrendous absence. After receiving many wonderful words and encouragement from readers, I decided I owe it both to you and to myself to get the hell over it and just write. Thank you so much for your patience and your kindness. Critique and commentary are more than welcome, as usual. The buildup is finally over and the real story can start in the next chapter, which is coming soon!

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Disclaimer: It ain't mine, yadda yadda, except my you know what with you know who, let's get along now.

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"AAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGHHHHH!"

Thorin Oakenshield's roar ripped through the inner mountain as he pounded his fists on its unforgiving stone walls, his face wrinkled tight in agony. From above him, hanging by the system of climbing ropes that held the group of dwarves against the mine wall, Kili exchanged looks with Fili, who could only meet his brother's eyes for a moment before returning it to his boots. They were old enough to recognize the early signs of Arkenstone Madness, as they had called it, and they did not like what that might mean for the future of their kingdom - primarily, that there might not be any, unless they took certain drastic preventative measures against its future king.

They had been searching for the Arkenstone for days. After scouting vast areas of the Deeps and holding their breath countless times at the sight of a gleam of blue or white hidden in the ruins (only to be disappointed time and time again), Thorin's frustration twisted in him like an axe pick as his already flimsy patience thinned to nothing. Greed was setting into his heart like the stones of his lost crown, and the hunger it inspired would, Kili knew, inevitably flesh out into the unquenchable thirst for treasure his race was prey to. He himself would not have minded finding the Arkenstone, and relished the possibility of returning the glory of his kindred to that of older days; but living under his brother's heavy shadow muted his greed, along with the rest of his nature, into a calm albeit insecure rationality. It was more than could be said for the youngest - having no burden to shoulder, Fili had no desire to stray from his natural place as quiet merrymaker to butt heads with his eldest sibling's immense willpower. So it came as no surprise that Fili held his tongue when Kili came down to Thorin's level on the rock face and said to him, as gently as he could,

"I believe, brother, we should turn our energies to other things for the time being."

Thorin had been holding his face against the wall, but he turned it now with slightly startled eyes to his younger brother.

"You mean to abandon the search?" he said gruffly.

"No, no," said Kili in his calmest voice, "I only ask that you listen to reason. We have so much work to do - what use is the Arkenstone to us if it has no throne to rest upon? We should be rebuilding... calling to our kin, settling our accounts... Perhaps, as we make our way through the caves, we will stumble upon it, and then we would have shot two birds with one arrow, and been all the better for it, do you see? Do you not agree?"

"Yes," said Thorin, his voice now quiet. "Yes, you are in the right. I agree. This is a plan." The feverish blue light that was in his eyes a moment ago slowly faded back to a deep pensive blue, and he seemed to return to normal. "Let us join the others."

"No need for that," shouted Kili from above, "the others seem to have come to us!"

Thorin and Kili looked up to see Bifur, Bofur and Bombur peeking their heads over the cliff. Bifur seemed to be stuttering something, but it was too low to make out.

"What did you say?" called Thorin.

"I-it's an army," shouted Bofur, "an army of elves and men - and they are headed for our gates!"

~~ ... ~~

"I should like to be the one to speak to the Dwarven king."

The Bard headed the Elven company alongside the two Elven kings as they approached the fortified Gate of the Lonely Mountain. It was Bard who spoke - he had an inkling that, being the defeater of Smaug, their request would meet with a warmer response than if it came from Thranduil or Therumen. The elves agreed, and in the journey towards the mountain they had all discussed what they would ask of Thorin Oakenshield and how they would word their request.

Aredhel's advice had been wiser than any of their plans, however. As a bold symbol of their peaceful intentions, the group that approached the gate comprised only of the Bard and two of his best men, the two Elven kings, each with two warriors, the two elven generals, and Vanya, who stood by her father's side as close to the front as he would allow.

Adrenaline coursed through Vanya's veins, excitement itching under her tanned skin. It was only after a heated and hard-won debate against her father that she was allowed to come along, and then only after she had made certain threats about her behaviour in her upcoming Rite of Passage – particularly, that she would go naked, with the high elves watching. He had begged her to remain in Esgaroth and keep house for him, but before he had finished his sentence she had already taken her horse and galloped far ahead of their company, tossing her hair at the raised eyebrows and condescending expressions of the generals. General Bein could only snicker and shake his head.

Now that they were all by the gate, however, laughing was the last thing on Bein's mind, and he doubted whether Therumen's leniency had not been a terrible mistake. He looked at Vanya, sitting straight and alert on her horse, her breathing heavy and slow, her youthfulness so obvious that to him she now seemed almost like a child anticipating an exciting event she could not hope to understand. Bein clucked at his horse and moved into a more protective position by her side, but kept his eyes on his king, who had assumed the calm and controlled expression he had when putting a well-crafted plan into action.

The mountain gate was intimidating. A large stone door carved into the mountain stone was inscribed with ancient Dwarven runes, some of them with some Elvish influence. Large holes made a half-moon around the door, where great jewels had once adorned the entrance to the Dwarves' palace. Broken stone pillars lay across the stone pathway leading up to the mountain, and standing tall against its wall were faded sculptures of great Dwarven kings of old, keeping watch over what once was. It was a dusty place, but the beauty of the dark onyx and dulled gold of the Dwarves' masterful work still showed through the wreckage.

Therumen nodded to the Bard. For a moment, even the birds were quiet as the Lake Town leader took in a large breath and shouted,

"Hail, to the Dwarven King!"

They waited, and heard nothing. Bard glanced at his companions and turned again to the gates.

"I say! We bring a message to the King Under the Mountain!"

They heard a tumbling of small stones and the great stone gate groaned as it opened a fraction. The overhang caused by broken pillars and stone cast a gloom over the entrance, but they could see a figure emerging from the darkness. The elves' sharp eyes saw immediately who it was. Vanya's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat.

Walking towards them, sword in hand, was Thorin Oakenshield.


	6. Chapter 5: First Meeting

BAM! Two chapters in a day. We're on a roll here. Critique and comments, C&C, etc etc. The Valkyries are very pleased, and I hope you will be too.

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Disclaimer: Not even a little ownership? No? Okay.

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At first glance, Thorin Oakenshield cut a very impressive figure.

Long brown hair occasionally threaded with grey framed a handsome, though severe face. His sky blue eyes lighted on her face momentarily before moving to take in the rest of Vanya's company. Thick boots and furs covered a heavily built frame, well used to battle, and his posture was that of a king. His swelled chest in contrast with his short stature would have been almost amusing if he did not carry his pride so well in the way he moved, slowly, purposefully. Vanya felt caught in the middle of a great moment - for the first time in many long years, elves and dwarves were meeting to talk peace. She was intrigued by this little king who moved as smoothly as a man - she had never in her life seen a dwarf outside of the yellowed pages of ancient texts, but from the songs she had imagined they would hobble somewhat, and be much uglier. This man, _Thorin, was it?_, was outside of her expectations.

By her side, General Bein was strung tighter than a bow. He forced his hands to relax on the reins of his horse, and did not move his gaze from Thorin's face. He was not worried about Thorin himself; he was more worried about what would happen to the impulsive and inexperienced Vanya if a fight did break out and she insisted on throwing herself into the thick of it, as she was so apt to do. A glance at the Dwarf's hold on his sword told him that if she provoked him, he would end her life brutally and efficiently, and Therumen would find no rest until he found his revenge. _Perhaps I am overthinking it,_ he thought to himself. _She seems controlled enough, and he is paying no attention to her._ As if hearing his thoughts, his sister nodded to him reassuringly and kept her hands on her horse's mane, away from her sword handle. _As long as she does..._

There was a tense moment of silence as Thorin faced the company of elves and men, one foot on a broken pillar, his sword gripped by his side.

"Who comes to see the King Under the Mountain?" he bellowed in his strong bass.

"Friends from Esgaroth," replied Bard, "who have come to hold council with you."

"Council?" Thorin came to stand face to shoulder with the intruder. "Council? What council could you possibly have to hold with the dwarves? Why would you come here, now?"

There was silence.

"You want something, don't you. DON'T YOU?"

His cry echoed against the rocks of Lonely Mountain, and Vanya jumped a little on her horse.

They watched him as he paced in front of the Bard, who stood with his arms open by his sides.

"I will speak plainly," he said, softly. "I am Bard the Bowman, of the line of Girion, and I come on behalf of my people. My people are as ravaged and broken as yours.

At this, Thorin scoffed, and paced, but did not interrupt.

"Smaug's wrath has taken the lives of men, of our women and children. Those that are left are starving, they are hopeless. I am the one," he says, now raising his voice, "to have slain the dragon Smaug, that wicked worm that took your own home and drove out your people as well as mine.

Thorin stopped pacing and faced Bard, still quiet.

"What I ask is simple," said Bard, "A small portion of your wealth - to rebuild our town, to rebuild my people, so that they may survive the coming winter and live as they did before. Is this not your own wish for your own kin?"

After a long pause, Thorin Oakenshield gave him a shrewd look. "How much do you ask for?"

"We ask a twelfth of what you have in gold."

"A TWELFTH!" thundered the Dwarf king. "A twelfth is fortune enough for twenty Esgaroths! You ask too much."

"Then we can negotiate," said Bard, jumping in. "I wish nothing more than to parlay with you, to come to some agreement of what would be suitable for us both. We know nothing of the amount of treasure your mountain holds, and we want nothing more than we need - we are not a greedy people - we only wish to survive."

Thorin looked at Bard thoughtfully, and after a long pause, he spoke. "You have great courage. You have done my people a service by destroying the snake that has occupied my halls, and I will return it to you by granting your request. We will discuss terms inside."

Bard bowed. "Thank you, dwarf king."

"But the elves cannot come," added Thorin firmly. "They are not welcome here, and their reason for being here is a mystery to me."

At this moment, Thranduil came down from his horse to speak to him.

"My good king, I have come to aid the people of Lake Town in their time of need, which is why I brought my soldiers. Most importantly, I come to apologize for the disrespect I have shown you and your company when you passed through my kingdom, and I hope to make amends so that we may settle old grudges and be at peace with one another."

Thorin looked at the Elven king sceptically, but accepted his outstretched hand. "Who is this of your kin that you bring with you?"

"My brother Therumen, who adds his forces to mine in the effort to help the people of Esgaroth." Therumen had dismounted and came now to greet the Dwarf king.

"I know you by reputation," acknowledged Thorin, stiff but grudgingly respectful.

"As do I you, Thorin Oakenshield," said Therumen kindly. "I bring with me my most trusted generals, General Beinion Adanion and General Aredhel Adanion, and with them my own daughter Vanya."

Thorin nodded to each of them, his eyes lingering on Vanya's for the briefest moment when he realized she had been staring at him.

"Why is it necessary that the elves be a part of our council?" he asked, turning back to Bard.

"For transparency. A small part of the gold will go to the elves, in repayment of their tireless efforts. We have drawn a proposition so that you will know precisely where your gold is going."

_Clever,_ thought Vanya, _if the dwarves are as greedy as the songs say, they will be much more willing to be generous if they don't think we are putting all of their gold in our pockets. Unless those pockets are..._

"Theirs? The elves, receive their own share? It seems you are not so noble and selfless as legend suggests."

"You would be correct," interceded Therumen, "for we are not as well-established as our high elf cousins. The wood elves, having no home in the West to retreat to, must make do with what they can find in Middle Earth. But you have my word that nothing will be done without your express permission."

"We will see," said Thorin, and turned to lead the company into the mountain.


	7. Chapter 6: The Rock and the Harpy

Let's get ready to rumbllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeee! It's a rollercoaster ride from here on in. Hope the buildup paid off. C&C, etc.

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Disclaimer: There must be some parallel universe where this ownership thing is possible. Or maybe just live-action living in it. I WOULD miss bathing regularly, though.

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Bilbo Baggins was not a very happy hobbit.

He was a terribly long way from home and had spent the past few days stuck in a dingy old palace that stank of dragon dung and Bombur's flatulence. There was nothing to eat, nothing to do, and very little to see, unless one didn't mind falling into an endless pit of darkness and stalagmites. He knew this because on his first (and only) expedition into the tunnels of the Lonely Mountain, he almost tripped into one, and was only saved by Fili's quick fingers (who took advantage of the opportunity to sneak his last piece of bread out of his pocket).

And so, for a week (_or more! Feels like ages in this damned place_) he had been sitting on a rock listening to hours on end of:

"Stop eating all of our rations, you bumbling oaf! Left in the wild the fat in your stomach alone would sustain you for months at least!"

"If he ever got hungry he could always take a shot of energy from one of his chins,"

"More than a shot, Bifur, he can throw them over his shoulder."

"My god, if this gold were a nice thick piece of ham or cheese, I would be the wealthiest man under the Lonely Mountain!"

"I know where we can find a walking piece of ham and cheese..."

"I wouldn't eat Bombur's cheese if Durin himself offered it to me on the body of a fresh maiden."

"Don't start - we might eat her before seeing her right."

"Seeing her right? I've seen you at table, I don't need to imagine you in bed."

"I don't think our ancestors realized you can't eat what you find in the wall."

"Not quite true! This mold isn't so bad."

"ORI!"

And from the makeshift council room on the right:

"I'll be damned if I see Thranduil take one coin out from under me!"

"Well, what they ask isn't so bad if you -"

"Stay out of this, Kili. I accept a negotiated offer of one million coins for you, Bard, but only on the condition that it go _directly_ to _Esgaroth. _I will not see any of what is rightfully mine go into the hands of that selfish, prejudiced king!"

"You should look at where you're pointing before you call me prejudiced, son."

"Your meaning?"

"Thranduil! He meant nothing. Please, we can come to some compromise..."

"There's no compromising with a stone."

"Better a stone than a harpy, _princess_."

"Better a harpy than a pebble, your _majesty_."

"Vanya, stay out of this. Thorin, we can make you this offer -"

"Nothing _you_ can offer me will satisfy me, Therumen King of Westwood."

"Uh!"

This endless bickering was like a family reunion in Hobbiton, without the beer and warm fires. Bilbo blew into his fiddle and sung songs in his head to pass the time, but it wasn't long before one of the dwarves would throw a shoe or a large stone at his head to make it stop. On empty stomachs, no one was in the mood for merrymaking.

Fili came and sat by him.

"Not sitting in on the council?", asked Bilbo.

"I come and go as I please. It's Kili that has to stay by Thorin and listen in."

"Why would Thorin insist on having your brother there? He seems rather hard on him."

"Kili is his only advisor and heir. Without sons to carry on his name, he is forming him into the next king, to take his place after Thorin becomes too old to rule."

"Why doesn't he marry, then?" asked Bilbo innocently.

Fili laughed and gestured around the palace. "Marry who? The pillars, or the gold piles? Nothin' feminine of our kind would live in such a place. We need years to rebuild and call back our people, and gods know they are scattered everywhere across Middle Earth and maybe dead! I've forgotten what a female dwarf looks like."

Bilbo glanced at Fili and shifted over to him confidentially. "Is it... true... that they have beards?"

"So the tales say," replied Fili matter-of-factly, "But I would assume not all would be as hairy as we. After all, dwarves are rumoured to be an ugly kind of folk, and look how handsomely our company has turned out, eh!"

Bilbo laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck, looking on to the elves for a change of scenery. Though they seemed tired and frustrated with Thorin's hard-headedness, Bilbo couldn't help but admire their beauty. He had seen elves before, but those he was used to were tall and fair. The wood elves were shorter and more wiry, a little wild-looking, like the trees amongst which they lived. Their apparel, though it still had the traditional delicacy of elven-wrought things, was more twisted and made in bolder colours than the white-gold and silver he was so used to seeing.

The most savage looking was Vanya, who had not learned to keep a cool head as well as her father had, even if they seemed to share the same bad temper. Her long red hair flowed uncombed and unadorned to frame her face, which was beautiful because of its strangely clear-cut features and eyes that glowed as if lit from within rather then reflect what was without. Her tall and well-muscled frame was much more warrior-like than princess-like, and the look she had trained on Thorin Oakenshield was terrifying.

"Wouldn't want to be him at the moment," Bilbo said, thinking out loud.

As if having had a similar thought, Fili answered, "Wouldn't want to be her, either."

Therumen was thinking the very same thing, but in an entirely different context - having played referee to Thorin, Vanya and Thranduil for several days now, he was slowly becoming convinced that if none of them bended their stubborn heads to reach a satisfying compromise soon, he would have to bend them himself. But what kept him quiet was an interesting turn of events he had not anticipated.

Thorin Oakenshield and Vanya had been butting heads with each other since they first sat down to parlay several days ago. What had begun as intense curiosity quickly evolved into fuelled hatred as their better natures clashed together in all of the worst places. Vanya observed with bitterness the dwarf's greed and pride, and Thorin looked down upon her brazen immaturity and impulsiveness. Each found themselves looking at the other and wondering the same thing: _who in the name of Arda does he... does she... think he is? _It seemed that anything one did only served to further infuriate the other. When Thorin showed pride and showered prejudice on the elves, Vanya was the first to throw it back at him. And when she, in turn, spoke out and voiced an idea, Thorin was the first to shoot her down with a few cold, patronizing words. The others were too tired, at this point in the day, to keep them from arguing, and were only waiting for the day's end so that they may return to their camp and begin again on the morrow.

Therumen kept the worst of Vanya's temper at bay, but he did not stop her from voicing her opinion. Something told him that anything Vanya would say to Thorin would serve a purpose eventually, and pose no real danger to the continuation of their meeting.

With a few exceptions, of course.

"... And why should the elves not give purely out of the kindness of their hearts - IF you have one - without expecting a reward? It would be a fine change to the way they've done things in the past."

"How rich, coming from the mouth of a dwarf, who I have never seen do a thing for anyone nor have a thought for anything but their gold and their BELLIES!"

"_Whom_."

"What?"

"_Whom_ I have never seen. Not who. Rich, you could say, coming from the mouth of a princess."

Vanya's eyes widened with fury as she rose slowly from the table to face Thorin Oakenshield, and he matched her movements, their eyes locked in a staring match worthy of the Valar.

"You _arrogant_, greedy, selfish..."

"Childish, _vulgar_, hypocritical..." countered Thorin, matching her tone.

"_Oafish_, narrow-minded _cave_ dweller with _**no empathy**_ and **NO HONOUR**!"

Thorin froze. From his seat, Therumen pinched the bridge of his nose and smiled subtly, while the other members of the council looked on in shock. Bein put a hand on the hilt of his sword, but was quietly stopped by Aredhel, who was not looking at him, but at her king, with a strange expression of comprehension.

"You... think -" Thorin began.

"Yes! Because only a man of _true_ honour would give and show kindness to those who have saved his life and his kingdom! A man of true honour would have the strength to conquer his own mind, and not let it be overrun by senseless greed!"

For a moment, the King Under the Mountain could do nothing but gape at his young elvish adversary. Then his face hardened, his eyes unfathomable and he took his sword from the table and tossed a brief "until tomorrow" to the others before storming deep into the tunnels.

Vanya, realizing she may have destroyed her company's negotiation efforts, turned somewhat sheepishly toward her father, though she still held her head high.

Therumen adjusted himself in his seat and smiled pleasantly through his exhaustion. "Well," he said, extending his arms for a moment, "we may have broken through at last."


End file.
